


I Get by With a Little Help from my Friends

by revolutionaryfury



Series: Those Three [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Joly and Bossuet, M/M, Multi, Musichetta is a runaway, Musichetta is an awesome punk child, and a seventh grader, and then she meets some awesome gay guys, because young kids are awesome, i'll shut up now, okay, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 07:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionaryfury/pseuds/revolutionaryfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Musichetta is a little punk child, has crazy religious parents, and meets some awesome gay guys.</p><p>(Pre-J/B/M)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Get by With a Little Help from my Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I understand that this was actually a part of my previous story "A Bunch of Stories Where Les Mis Characters are Shipped." It's also posted on FF. But, I must say, I've retitled it on FF, and renamed all of the chapters. So I'm posting them again here as separate stories.

_“Runaways are romantic. The girls are waiflike with dyed ratty hair and baggy pants. They usually own a stray dog of the mutt variety and drag it along by a rope, plopping down in front of storefronts to beg for money from passersby. They're a mess. It is likely they'll charm you, make you think you're their best friend and savior only to end up using you and then they'll disappear. That's why they're romantic. They're there and then they're gone. Romance is always about people appearing in a flash out of nothing or people who are there and then suddenly are not. A magic trick.”_

_-Bett Williams_

 

Musichetta was twelve years old. She was...different from most girls her age. She was in the seventh grade, and considered a punk by most of the kids at school. She had a penchant for wearing black, had a shaved head, and a stormy disposition. Her parents, religious zealots, were shocked by this. They warned Musichetta to change her ways within three weeks, or she would be faced with the choice of repenting and moving to an all-girls Catholic school three states away…or being kicked out of the house. Defiant to the end, 'Chetta had declared, "I'd rather be kicked out and live on the streets than go to school with a bunch 'a bible thumpers!"

And so she'd been kicked out.

At first it was okay, because it was September, and the weather was warm. She ate food from the garbage can behind a fancy restaurant, drank out of public water fountains, and slept in the park. No one bothered the tough-looking, stubble-headed girl, and she didn't talk to anyone. She missed sleeping in a bed, but she didn't miss school and church and all the pretentious brats there. That was… until October rolled around. The weather got a dramatically colder, and the fact that the only warm piece of clothing she owned was a black hoodie began to come up as glaring. The next day, the owner of the restaurant threatened to call the cops if she took food from his garbage again. She couldn't find the soup kitchen, and things began to get worse and worse until suddenly she hadn't eaten in three (or was it four?) days, and was too weak to look for water. She had dragged herself into an alley the night before, and that was where Musichetta swore she was doomed to die.

She wrapped her skinny arms around her knees and tried to stop the pounding headache and shaking that wracked her body. Everything hurt, from her head to her stomach to her eyes. She felt the world becoming hazy, and thought about collapsing from dehydration and exhaustion. Before this could happen though, twin shadows fell across her, blocking out the cold sunlight. "Get away," 'Chetta mumbled. "Please, I don't have any money or anything."

The first shadow shook as it chuckled. A boy kneeled down and patted her arm. He looked maybe two or three years older than her, at about fourteen or fifteen. "Hey, kid. We're not trying to rob you. We're trying to help you."

The second shadow kneeled down beside the first boy. It was a boy with orangey-blonde hair, too pale skin and a red nose, as if he were fighting a cold. He sneezed into his elbow and offered a small smile. "I'm Joly. My dad's a doctor, and my mom's a nurse. I can tell you right now that you're in trouble." A nervous look crossed his face. "Um… you're too pale. Your eyes are bloodshot, and you're shaking." He began to look somewhat panicked. "You-you're not noticing odd discoloration in your fingers and toes, are you? Or a-abnormal bumps on your tongue? Or yellowing of the eyes?" he squeaked, his breath quickening.

The first boy put a hand on Joly's arm. "Jollly, calm down. You're scaring the girl." He gave a lopsided grin and cocked his head. "Sorry, kid. My Joly here's a hypochondriac."

Musichetta pretended to know what this meant and smiled weakly. "I'm Musichetta," she said.

"I'm Bossuet," the boy said. "Or Lesgle. Or Laigle. Or Baldy Boy to my more obnoxious friends." He turned and gave Joly a pointed look.

"That's only under special circumstances," he said with a wink, recovering from his previous bout of freak out before.

Musichetta did notice that Bossuet (or Lesgle, or Laigle, or Baldy Boy) was completely bald. The young teen must shave his head or something. She grinned slightly. "Alright."

"Now, let's see about this," Joly murmured. He offered hand and pulled Musichetta up. Her stomach growled loudly. He frowned and bit his lip. "You haven't eaten in a while, have you?"

"No," 'Chetta murmured, almost ashamed.

"We'll see about that!" Bossuet grinned. While Joly suffered from a sudden sneezing attack, Bossuet swept an arm under the skinny girl's legs and carried her like a new bride out of the alley. She wrapped her arms around his neck, surprised.

"Thanks," she mumbled with a smile.

"No problem, Musichetta!" Bossuet said happily. Joly caught up with them, and the three continued down the sidewalk. Joly and Bossuet chatted amiably, Joly pointing out more than once that his cold could be the early stages of a fatal disease, and Bossuet assuring him it wasn't. They included Musichetta in the conversation whenever they could, but she preferred to be silent and listen. After about ten minutes, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep so they would stop including her and talk around her. She liked hearing their voices. They chatted about everything under the sun, from their school and their crazy teachers to movies that they enjoyed and planned on seeing. Joly talked excitedly about a new vaccine that his father was working on that was like a better version of the flu shot. Bossuet mmm-hmm'd at the appropriate parts, and Musichetta had a feeling Joly was more passionate about the medical field than Bossuet.

Eventually, she cracked an eye, wondering where these strange boys were taking her. They were walking through a public park, and Musichetta had no idea where she was. She didn't feel scared, though; she felt immensely safe. She closed her eyes again, and this time actually began to fall asleep. As she drifted, she heard Joly remark: "Musichetta falling asleep." There was a brief pause. "Laigle… what are we gonna do with her? We don't know her. Does she have parents? If she does, where are they? She's what – twelve, thirteen? She's too young to be homeless."

Bossuet stopped walking. "I know, Joly. We do need to help her, though. Kid's skinny as a stick. I'm gonna set her down for a minute; my arms are tired." She felt herself being lowered down on a park bench and surrendered to sleep.

When Musichetta awoke, the sun was just setting. She'd probably been asleep for about two hours. Cursing her rumbling stomach, 'Chetta looked for Joly and Bossuet, wondering briefly if they'd ditched her. She shook her head quickly, trying to banish the thought. When Musichetta did locate them, what she saw frankly shocked her: Bossuet was leaning against a tree, his head drooping and leaning on Joly's. Joly had his arms around Bossuet's chest and his head buried in the crook of his neck. There was nothing friendly about that. That was coupley. Huh, I guess I just made up a new word, Chetta thought. She shrugged – who was she to judge? – and staggered over to the two, weak on her feet. She tapped Bossuet's bald head and gave him a lopsided grin when he blearily opened his eyes.

"Hey," he mumbled sleepily, and then cast Joly a look. "Oh… I guess you know about this now."

Musichetta shrugged again. "Love is love," she said.

Bossuet smiled. "You know what? I love you right now, kid. No one I've ever met has said that. I mean… not many people know, but those who do have pretty much the same response."

"What?"

"Something like: 'You're only fifteen. You're both too young to know this.' Then again, that is if they're not calling me a fa – well, you get it."

'Chetta frowned deeply. "Why? Of course you know." Then she paused. "I thought you were fourteen."

Bossuet grinned. "I love you even more. And to answer your question, I'm fifteen and Jollly's fourteen."

"I'm twelve," Musichetta said.

Bossuet nodded and roused Joly, picking Musichetta back up and the three of them continued on their way.


End file.
